Ursa Major
by stillwritingjag
Summary: Harm and Mac learn about a new culture.


Author: Laurie19582000 Story Title: Ursa Major Classification: Adventure  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Disclaimer: JAG belongs to Paramount, CBS, et.al. No infringement  
  
is intended.  
  
Archiving: No problem.  
  
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Admiral Chegwidden's Office JAG Headquarters 0830 Hours Friday, June 13  
  
Admiral A.J. Chegwidden, Judge Advocate General of the Navy, held his head in his hand as the Secretary of the Navy continued to elaborate his concerns.  
  
"Dammit, A.J. We can't tolerate any more complaints that the Department of the Navy is stonewalling on FOIA requests. The public won't stand for it and that puts my job on the line. Have I made my position clear?"  
  
"Yes, Sir. Perfectly," Chegwidden grimaced.  
  
"Good. Now let's get this mess straightened out."  
  
"I'll get right on it."  
  
"The sooner the better. I would hate to have to renege on the positive fitrep I gave your operation."  
  
A.J. sighed as he replaced the phone in its cradle while simultaneously punching the intercom button.  
  
"Tiner! I want Commander Rabb and Colonel MacKenzie in my office in the next sixty seconds or you'll find yourself polishing trash cans for the next two weeks!"  
  
-----------------------------  
  
0840 Hours Admiral Chegwidden's Office  
  
"Rabb, where are you with prosecuting Corporal Dixon's murder?"  
  
"Not far. I just started reviewing the file from the Article 32 investigation. But it looks like we have a solid case against Private Manning," Commander Harmon Rabb answered, wondering where this line of questioning was heading.  
  
"So you haven't invested too much time in the case?"  
  
"No, not yet. But I've cleared my schedule so I can give it my utmost attention," Harm answered. Tiner had warned him the Admiral was in a bear of a mood.  
  
"Cleared your schedule, huh?"  
  
"Yes Sir."  
  
"I'm handing the case off to Colonel MacKenzie," Chegwidden then stated matter of factly.  
  
"Sir?! I don't understand," Harm looked perplexed as his eyes met Mac's who facial expression matched his own.  
  
"Colonel, you just completed the Franklin Article 32 investigation so you have time to pick up the Dixon case. Correct?"  
  
"Yes, Sir. But I ..." Colonel Sarah 'Mac' Mackenzie started to argue on behalf of her friend knowing he would be disheartened to lose out on the chance to participate on the relatively high profile case.  
  
"Good, consider yourself the new prosecutor," the Admiral interrupted leaving no room for discussion.  
  
"Yes Sir," Mac answered.  
  
"Where does that leave me, Sir?" Harm asked opting not to challenge the change of plans when Chegwidden was on the warpath.  
  
"Free to work on the first floor with the Administrative Support Division."  
  
Harm's mind was spinning. The first floor was for paper pushing. Staffed mainly by junior officers and enlisted personnel who spent half their time tracking and storing records from court proceedings and the other half completing Freedom of Information Requests. He looked alarmingly at Mac as he continued to wrack his brain trying to identify what he had done to warrant such an assignment. Mac's eyes in turn communicated empathy and moral support at the turn of events.  
  
Meanwhile, Admiral Chegwidden enjoyed a few moments of pleasure as he watched his senior attorney wrestle with the news. After he felt Harm had sufficient time to misinterpret the implications of the assignment, he continued.  
  
"Don't worry Commander. I don't need you to complete any FOIA requests. But I do need your familiarity with that process to look into something."  
  
"What would that be Admiral?" Harm asked simultaneously intrigued and a little relieved that he wasn't in the doghouse.  
  
"The Secnav's quarterly report shows a ten percent increase in the number of Freedom of Information Act requests denied the past three months. The ACLU is all over him claiming the Navy is not complying with legitimate requests for information. They are implying prejudicial treatment is causing the number of denials to increase."  
  
"Is there any truth to the accusation?"  
  
"That is what I need you to find out."  
  
----------------------------  
  
1145 Hours Harm's Office  
  
"So all that tedious work completing those FOIA requests six months ago is finally paying off. You are on the fast track heading down," Mac teased Harm as he packed his briefcase for the trip downstairs.  
  
"You're real funny, Mac. But I have to admit it will give me better insight into the challenges of that division."  
  
"Well just don't be too good at it. Chegwidden might decide there is merit in keeping you there to run the show."  
  
"God forbid! But if he did, would you miss me?" Harm grinned.  
  
"It's more like hating to see good talent wasted."  
  
"Whoa! Did I just hear a compliment in there somewhere?"  
  
"Consider it an acknowledgment that I know you would rather be on the murder case."  
  
"Yea, I would at that," Harm sighed as he grabbed an extra yellow legal tablet before heading toward the elevator that led to the lower tombs of JAG.  
  
"I'll call you if I need help with the case," Mac yelled behind him.  
  
"Call me even if you don't. I need someone to make sure I haven't fallen off the face of the earth," Harm grimaced. ---------------------------  
  
1200 Hours First Floor JAG Headquarters  
  
Harm entered the first floor bullpen area hoping to keep things low key. Unfortunately his timing sucked. His arrival coincided with a very small, but smoky fire that had broken out in the microwave in the pantry just off the work area. Personnel were scurrying to shut off the shrieking smoke alarm and diffuse the smoke before it set off the entire sprinkler system in the area.  
  
Chegwidden's not going to believe this wasn't my fault Harm cringed as he shook his head in disbelief.  
  
The activity came to a screeching halt as the junior officers and enlisted personnel realized he was watching the three-ring circus. Ensign Jackie Talltree exited the pantry with the charred remains of her takeout container.  
  
He almost laughed out loud as he took in each and every startled face that looked expectantly in his direction.  
  
"Umm...Carry on. Except for Ensign Ballant," Harm looked around hoping to identify the first interviewee of the day.  
  
"That would be me, Sir," a young woman stepped forward.  
  
"Join me in the conference room, Ensign."  
  
"Yes, Sir!"  
  
"I didn't realize the first floor ever got this much excitement," Harm smiled hoping it would put the nervous young woman at ease.  
  
"It usually doesn't, Sir. But thanks to Ensign Talltree I've had more excitement than I need," she frowned.  
  
"Relax Ensign. I need your help. I understand you are overseeing a dozen legalmen who complete the deparment's FOIA requests. How did that come about?"  
  
"I guess I have a knack for details and got pretty good at completing a variety of requests. As a result I believe Lieutenant Stokes put in a good word for me before he left."  
  
"Stokes use to oversee the FOIA process?"  
  
"Yes, Sir. He supervised the legalmen up until the time of accepting an assignment in San Diego."  
  
"Is your assignment permanent?"  
  
"No Sir. Temporary until the Lieutenant's replacement is named."  
  
"Are you in the running for it?"  
  
"Me Sir!? No. I barely know more that most of the legalmen I'm supervising. But someone has to prioritize the FOIA requests and assign them to keep the processing flowing."  
  
"I thought the requests were completed on a 'first-in first-out' basis."  
  
"That is true to a degree. In order to help meet the twenty day turnaround that the Freedom of Information Act mandates, we categorize the requests into one of three different tracks. Simple, complex, and expedite."  
  
"Are we able to meet the twenty day time frame?"  
  
"Not always. But categorizing the requests helps ensure fair and equitable treatment. We give the simplest requests to the least experience legalmen until they learn the ropes."  
  
"Hmm...I wonder which category was sent to me?" Harm mused.  
  
"Sir?" Ensign Ballant asked confused.  
  
"Nothing Ensign," Harm grinned sheepishly realizing the young woman had no idea that Admiral Chegwidden occasionally had FOIA work assigned to anyone needing their ego reined in.  
  
"Sir, is there a problem? Did I do something wrong? I mean it's not everyday we get someone from the third floor down here," the young woman frowned.  
  
"I wouldn't worry about it Ensign," Harm answered truthfully. "I'm just trying to find out why there is an increase in the number of FOIA requests being denied. Any ideas?"  
  
"No Sir. Captain Taylor never shared the operational stats with us."  
  
"Maybe you should have submitted a FOIA request for the information," Harm joked.  
  
"It's certainly within the realm of federal agency information that's available to the public," the Ensign agreed.  
  
"Ensign, just so you know, I'll be asking questions and poking around this place. Don't take it personally."  
  
"Thank you Sir. I'll try not to. And we're sorry about the fire, Sir."  
  
--------------------------------------  
  
Monday, June 16 1100 Hours  
  
Harm had spent the morning talking individually to four of the legalmen under Ensign Ballant. A Petty Officer Rebecca Crandall was next on the list. He found her in the first floor bullpen juggling a stack of manilla files in one hand and a thermos of coffee in the other.  
  
"Trying to stay awake Petty Officer?" Harm asked noting the thermos was destined for the Petty Officer's desk.  
  
"Something like that, Sir. Did you want a cup?"  
  
"No thanks. I just need a few minutes with you."  
  
"Me Sir? Ah,...of course Sir. My desk is right around this partition," Crandall stammered.  
  
"Relax Petty Officer. I just need some information."  
  
"Yes Sir. Sorry Sir. You just haven't seen us at our best, Sir."  
  
"I take it those are FOIA requests you are working on. How is it going? You don't find them too boring do you?" Harm asked as he took the top file from the stack.  
  
"Well, Sir. Some are better than others. Some shouldn't have made it this far. They're incomplete. You know, lacking some required element."  
  
"Such as?" Harm asked relieved that Crandall had settled down and appeared competent to answer his questions.  
  
"Well take this one for example...The required fee isn't enclosed."  
  
"Aren't some of those processed because a fee waiver has been granted?"  
  
"Yes, Sir. In some cases, the requester can claim financial hardship. But then they are supposed to include justification for the waiver. In other cases it might be another federal agency requesting the information or a special interest group working on behalf of an individual."  
  
"Who makes the determination to grant such a waiver or not?"  
  
"Normally Lieutenant Stokes would review them and sign-off on the waiver. But he hasn't been replaced yet so Ensign Ballant advised we should take the initiative and use our best judgment."  
  
"Are there other areas where the legalmen are taking more initiative than usual?"  
  
"Well on some of the more complex requests there is always the issue of determining if a request can be denied because the information is classified. For example because of national security. Or if someone is asking for personal or medical information that would constitute an invasion of privacy. But most of us lean towards being conservative. I mean if we're not sure, we won't release the information without someone higher up the chain of command signing off on it."  
  
"Like Lieutenant Stokes?"  
  
"Sometimes or Commander Taylor. He would review them too."  
  
"Commander Taylor, he's on medical leave now. Isn't he?"  
  
"Yes, Sir. He's been out longer than expected due to complications from surgery for a herniated disk."  
  
-------------------------------- --------------------------------  
  
1400 Hours JAG lower level - Basement Prior Cases File Room  
  
"Dagnabit! Son of a banana! Where in blue blazes are you hiding?"  
  
Harm heard the voice before he spotted its owner sitting on the floor rifling through a cardboard file box.  
  
"Those are pretty colorful expletives you are using there Petty Officer...Jenkins...is it?" Harm stated as he came around the corner of the row of file cabinets.  
  
"Oh my gosh Sir! I didn't know anyone else was down here. I'm sorry. That language is inexcusable," the young woman jumped to her feet standing at attention.  
  
"It's all right Jenkins. I'm not here to bust you for improper decorum. I'm not even sure your euphemisms fall into that category. I'm Commander Rabb. You have probably heard by now I am talking with some of the legalmen in the department. Is there something in particular that is frustrating you?"  
  
"Just the ususal run of the mill stuff. You know, the one file you need out of thousands is misplaced. But it's the one you need to get the job done."  
  
"What is the file you are looking for?"  
  
"Court-martial case from 1945. United States versus Brown. It should still be on file here somewhere. The computerized post-trial case-tracking system shows it should be in section B-4. But I'm not seeing it."  
  
"Do you know the nature of the case?"  
  
"No, Sir. It's not the final opinion rendered on the case that I'm looking for."  
  
"What are you looking for then?"  
  
"According to this FOIA request there should be supporting documents on file with us. A personal journal in particular. We've been asked to provide copies of the entries from November 1944 on."  
  
"Are you sure we still have it?"  
  
"Yes, Sir. It's still inventoried. This is the second appeal made by the Kwaipai Native American tribe for the information. They are getting upset we are taking so long and are threatening to bring the American Civil Liberties Union into the mix. So the request has been given expedite status. I'm trying my best to expedite it but the request is going nowhere until I get my hands on that journal."  
  
"The ACLU, huh?...Why don't you take a break. Maybe it's right before your nose and you just aren't seeing it. Besides I need to go over a couple other requests with you at your desk."  
  
---------------------------- ----------------------------  
  
Monday, June 16 1900 Hours JAG Basement - File Room  
  
Mac studied Harm as he leaned his tall frame against the file cabinet, totally absorbed in whatever it was he was reading.  
  
"It's spooky down here," Mac announced.  
  
"Jesus, Mac!" Harm turned abruptly hitting his funny bone as he looked at her. "You sure know how to give a guy a heart attack."  
  
"You look like a teenager who just got caught red-handed with a Playboy magazine," Mac laughed.  
  
"Hardly," Harm retorted as he rolled his eyes and rubbed his elbow.  
  
"Sorry to startle you. I heard you made quite the entrance yesterday. Something about a fire?"  
  
Harm just groaned in response.  
  
"Do you realize it's after 1900. No one has seen you for the past two hours. I was beginning to think you might really have fallen off the face of the earth," Mac continued.  
  
"I guess I lost track of time."  
  
"What's so captivating?" Mac craned her neck to see around Harm and get a better view of what he was holding.  
  
"Do you know the Navy successfully prosecuted a Private Brown in 1945 for dereliction of duty."  
  
"Nothing unusual about that."  
  
"No, but it's a fascinating story. Private David Brown started a journal when he shipped out to France in 1944. He was in the infantry."  
  
"Meaning he would have been in the thick of some major fighting," Mac clarified.  
  
"Yea. It's really interesting. Listen to this entry he made November 25....It's Thanksgiving. I keep telling myself there is a lot to be thankful for but who am I kidding. The rain hasn't stopped for two days and the temperature has dropped to a god-awful 39 degrees. Jeeps and me are up to our knees in mud. We actually had to bail the trench before taking turns sleeping. My trench partner's real name is Juniper, but us white guys have trouble remembering that. He wrecked an Army jeep his first day here so his new name has stuck. Anyway, he and I agree we would be better off with snow. At least then we might have a chance to keep dry."  
  
"November 27...The weather has abruptly turned for the better and gives us a chance to get some washing done. We have to do it the old fashioned way with our hands and a scrub brush. By the time I get home I'll be so good at this I'll save a chunk of change doing my own laundry rather than having old Mrs. Mills take care of it."  
  
"December 1..We marched 15 miles towards Leblanc today. There sure are enough churches over here. We just passed one over 160 years old. It is in pretty good shape for being so old but is in need of some repairs, particularly the old slat roof. The doors were open as we marched by. You could see the seats were of the old high back chair variety. It's likely I will have seen my fill of churches before the week is out. Scuttlebutt has us marching north towards Prefousse where we hope to join up with other companies from the 111th."  
  
Harm paused as he flipped through the journal.  
  
"What is it?" Mac asked.  
  
"That last entry is one of several that are flagged for containing operational information...That's why he was charged with DOD. He was unintentionally recording information about troop movements."  
  
"That would have been censored information. The same as if he had been writing letters home. If that journal had fallen into enemy hands it could have compromised troop movements and might have affected the outcome of the Battle of the Bulge," Mac stated.  
  
"Right. According to the trial summary Sargeant Perkins, Private Brown's squad leader, warned him on two other occasions to be more careful otherwise there would be hell to pay."  
  
"I guess the warnings went unheeded. Why do you have the journal in the first place?"  
  
"One of the legalmen had trouble finding it to complete a FOIA request. I played a hunch that the case index number might have been miskeyed into the database. It turns out the final two numbers were transposed. The journal was filed where it was supposed to be but the on-line tracking system pointed her in the wrong direction."  
  
----------------------------  
  
0800 Hours Two days later Wednesday, June 15 Harm's Office  
  
Harm finished reading the last of the entries in the journal. He had promised Petty Officer Jenkins he would return it to her by 0815 hours today. There was something about the journal that had made him want to read it from cover to cover. But he felt a little guilty doing so, like going through someone's closet when they weren't home. On the other, he couldn't put it down. It was as good as some of the books currently on the best sellers list. He continued to read silently to himself.  
  
December 12 -- Well I made it back from the front lines again. It sure was Hell spelled with a capital H. It was a while before we had the krauts on the run and not before twelve men were killed and six wounded. The machine guns were pouring lead all around us. It's pretty hard to see one of our own knocked off beside you. But that's what makes you mad and keeps you going. I sure would hate to be on the other side. We are giving them all they want and a little more. I sure hope I can last two more weeks until my furlough."  
  
December 16 -- Jeeps has had trouble sleeping and has been on edge for the past two weeks. He's been gazing at the evening stars more than usual, if that's possible. As far as I can figure he's carrying a heavy load from home yet doesn't want to talk about it. He asked me real serious-like to remember something for him. I don't know if I got it quite right because it sounded gibberish to me but it was important to him so I tried to give him my best ear.  
  
December 19 -- Jeeps didn't make it back today. It's hard not to dwell on it. He had a unique outlook on life. I hope he is at peace with his maker. Whenever I gaze at the sky and spy the north star, I will remember his request to look for two bears running towards the moon.  
  
"Harm, if you don't get your nose out of that book, you'll be late for the staff meeting," Mac warned as she ducked her head into his office.  
  
"I've got five more pages to go, I'll see you there."  
  
"You won't see me there. I'm headed out to conduct an interview. I just wanted to make sure you didn't lose track of time. Is that Private Brown's journal?"  
  
"Yea."  
  
"Do you know whatever happened to him?"  
  
"He was dishonorably discharged but didn't serve any brig time. He died in the early fifties at the age of 29."  
  
----------------------------  
  
0915 Hours Staff Meeting  
  
"Commander Rabb, I take it you've completed your temporary assignment. Care to give the group a summary of your report," Admiral Chegwidden requested.  
  
"Yes, Sir. The increased FOIA denials appear to ultimately stem as a result of downsizing and budget cuts in the department. The current group of legalmen, who have been without direct leadership for some time now, are bright but relatively inexperienced. With a little more time they should be able to pick up the slack. I would suspect that things will turn around once Lieutenant Commander Stokes' replacement arrives and Captain Taylor returns to duty."  
  
"So the claims about prejudicial treatment are unfounded?"  
  
"It appears so."  
  
"Very well Commander. Good job. I will have a copy of your written report forwarded to the Secnav. Meanwhile, let's get these new assignments taken care of..."  
  
"AIRPAC's trying to finalize the building of a new F-18 training airstrip in northern Arizona but their negotiators have been unsuccessful in closing the deal. It seems public opinion is negative and demonstrations to locate the airstrip elsewhere are increasing."  
  
"Why is that, Sir?" Bud Roberts asked genuinely interested.  
  
"There is significant local support behind the Kwaipai Native American tribe's contention that the airstrip would be too close to sacred land on their reservation. Anyway AIRPAC's looking to JAG to help smooth over some legal compromises that might give everyone what they want....Mr. Roberts, you are usually level-headed...Interested in going to Arizona?"  
  
"Sir, if I might make a suggestion," Harm piped up before Bud could answer.  
  
"Yes, Commander?" Chegwidden sighed, his dismay at the interruption evident.  
  
"Sir, the Kwaipai submitted FOIA requests that were among those recently denied. Perhaps it would aid negotiations if we used the opportunity to smooth things over and..."  
  
"And since you're familiar with the requests already and an aviator to boot, you might be the best choice to send," Chegwidden finished.  
  
"Well, yes Sir. Something like that."  
  
"Very well, Commander. If you promise to try and embrace the local culture beyond your normal tolerance for such things, you can take the point on this."  
  
"Thank you, Sir," Harm answered ignoring the Admiral's jibe while glancing at Bud who was trying, unsuccessfully, to contain his disappointment. He mouthed a silent 'Sorry' to his friend and wasn't surprised when he was repaid with a stare that left no room to misinterpret what Bud thought about the idea.  
  
--------------------------------  
  
1300 Hours Harm's Office  
  
"Well Harm, I won't even ask how you wrangled this assignment. But I heard you royally pissed off Bud," Mac stated as she dumped a ten-page memorandum on his desk.  
  
"That wasn't my intent. Besides, he got over it five minutes later when he was assigned an accident investigation on the Patrick Henry," Harm griped.  
  
"And now you are irritable and mad because you aren't heading towards a carrier. Instead you get to go to some obscure, off the beaten track corner of America."  
  
"Are you here with the sole intent to make my life miserable...And what is this anyway?" Harm asked as he picked up the memorandum.  
  
"Secnav instructions number one-one-o-one-o, Department of the Navy policy for consultation with federally recognized Native American tribes. You might want to bone up on it on your flight out."  
  
"Couldn't you just summarize it for me?" Harm groaned.  
  
"Nope. But I'll warn you the gist is that it's in the Navy's best interest to build a working relationship of respect, trust, and openness with tribal government representatives. Think you can handle that?"  
  
"Why wouldn't I?".  
  
"Don't get defensive. I just remember a certain case in Japan when we were aiding in the representation of a young officer charged with rape. Someone, who shall remain nameless, did a stellar job of sticking his foot in his mouth on more than one occasion when it came to understanding the nuances of that culture," Mac grinned as she headed for her own office.  
  
"And I'm not irritable," Harm yelled at her retreating back.  
  
-------------------------------- ------------------------------  
  
1300 Hours Thursday, June 16 Kwaipai Native American Reservation Northern Arizona  
  
Harm sighed in relief once he parked the government-issued blue sedan outside the small brick building. The drive northeast out of Flagstaff was straightforward enough until he got to the boundaries of the reservation. There the roads turned to dirt and recent rains turned some stretches into quagmires. Remnants of a recent storm were visible. Limbs from downed aspen and lodge pole pines lay across the road requiring he navigate around them, bringing him precariously close to the steep hillsides.  
  
The relentless summer sun heated the air to an uncomfortable 95 degrees Four elderly men, seeking cooler temperatures, had arranged lawn chairs in the shadows cast by the side of the Kwaipai tribal headquarters building.  
  
"Good afternoon. I'm Commander Harmon Rabb. I was told I could find Chief Redflower here."  
  
The silence was palpable. The four men glanced in his direction yet Harm had the uncanny feeling they were looking right through him. Just as Harm was about to try elsewhere, one of the men flicked his head towards the interior of the building.  
  
"Thank you," Harm acknowledged.  
  
It took a moment or two for his eyes to adjust after he knocked at the open door. The room's cement brick walls helped keep the interior a few degrees cooler than the air outside. Old eight-foot long tables lined two walls while wooden folding chairs were haphazardly strewn about. The linoleum floor needed a wax job but it was clean. There were signs indicating the room served as the local bingo hall too.  
  
In the far right hand corner two men with dark complexions were seated surrounded by six similarly toned youths, the oldest sixteen or seventeen Harm estimated. In direct contrast to his arrival outside, all heads immediately turned in his direction with expectant looks as he entered and removed his cover. One of the men, who appeared middle aged, stood and approached.  
  
"I'm looking for Chief Robert Redflower."  
  
"Congratulations, you've found him," the man smirked as he approached and extended his hand in greeting.  
  
"I'm Commander Harmon Rabb. The Navy sent me to see if we could workout a compromise relative to the airstrip they hope to locate near here."  
  
"Yes, we were advised someone from Washington would be coming," Redflower stated motioning for Harm to take a chair near the group and offering him a glass of cold water.  
  
"This is John Yellowcorn and some of our younger tribal members."  
  
Harm nodded to the youths who were decked out in baggy shirts and shorts. In contrast to the long pony tails worn by Redflower and Yellowcorn their hair was cut to stubble. All wore headbands so low over their eyes they had to tip their heads back to see Harm. They looked like the typical teenagers often seen roller blading on the Mall in Washington.  
  
Harm attempted to shake hands with Yellowcorn, who appeared in his early seventies, but the gesture was rebuffed so he turned his attention back to the chief.  
  
"I'm also familiar with the Freedom of Information Act request the Kwaipais have made and I want to assure you that the information you requested should arrive in a couple of days."  
  
"You have seen the information yourself?" asked Yellowcorn whose deep scowl was the prominent feature of his face. Harm couldn't help but picture him in an old cowboy and Native American movie.  
  
"Yes, Sir. Might I ask the reason you seek this information?"  
  
"You may not," Yellowcorn answered with contempt.  
  
Harm accepted the man's answer choosing not to pry and antagonize him more.  
  
"Chief Redflower is it possible for me to meet with the tribal council members and review the compromises the Navy is willing to make regarding the airstrip we seek to build?"  
  
"We are willing to hear your offer, but it is probably a futile effort on your part. The Kwaipai nation places their sacred lands above all else. However, you have come this far and you will have your chance to speak."  
  
"No doubt with forked tongue," Yellowcorn sneered.and the youths chuckled.  
  
Redflower silenced them with a quick look.  
  
"I apologize for their behavior. I see by your many ribbons you are a warrior," Redflower nodded towards Harm's chest.  
  
"Not today. Today I come to start a dialogue between the Kwaipai and the Navy."  
  
"Dialogue is good. It breeds understanding."  
  
Harm sensed the comment was intended more for the others in the room than for himself.  
  
"Would tomorrow be agreeable?" Harm asked.  
  
"Unfortunately no. We are about to enter the annual honoring of Mother Sun. A great powwow is planned."  
  
"When then?" Harm asked remembering the dictates of the Secnav's memorandum to abide by tribal protocol.  
  
"Four mornings from now."  
  
"That would be Monday. Is it possible to meet sooner?" Harm frowned, calculating whether or not it would be worthwhile to return to Washington or stay in Arizona..  
  
"No. I'm afraid the tribal council will not agree to it. A festive weekend is planned with many outsiders coming to watch the powwow. Many vendors will be here. It is against our tradition to mix business with pleasure. The weekend will bring in much needed funds for our tribe."  
  
Harm let the contradiction slide. Starting off on a confrontational foot would not help matters.  
  
"Perhaps I could view the area in question in the meantime," Harm suggested hoping to accomplish something if he remained here.  
  
"To step foot on sacred Kwaipai land without participating in the ceremonial cleansing is not permitted," the oldest of the youths informed him.  
  
"Bentstraw is correct. However, perhaps the Commander is willing to participate in the cleansing," Redflower made the conciliatory offer.  
  
------------------------------------  
  
1600 Hours Kwaipai Inn  
  
"Good news, Harm. I've wrapped up the Dixon murder case. Private Manning plead guilty to second-degree murder. So the Admiral wants me to assist you in Arizona. I'm flying out first thing in the morning With the change in time zones I'll be there early afternoon," Mac informed Harm over the phone.  
  
"Why do I get the feeling that you and the Admiral don't think I can pull this off alone? I'll have you know I'm blending in quite nicely."  
  
"I bet," Mac laughed. "What are your accommodations like?"  
  
"I was given one of the dignitary suites at the Kwaipai Inn. It's right on the reservation. Otherwise I would have had to go all the way back to Flagstaff. That's a two-hour drive. There's not another room around here due to the festivities."  
  
Harm failed to mention that what gave the room its dignitary status was the broken air conditioner in the window. None of the other twenty motel rooms had an air conditioner, working or otherwise. He also failed to tell her that it was dumb luck the room was available in the first place. A tribal leader from one of the other nearby nations had fallen and broken his hip earlier in the day. Thus, he wouldn't be joining in the powwow. Redflower offered Harm the room at $100 per night. The rate, no doubt, made up on the spur of the moment.  
  
"Does this mean you are offering me the chance to bunk with you?"  
  
"There are two beds, Mac. But they are not 'bunked'."  
  
"What are the festivities you mentioned?" Mac asked choosing not to pin him down for an answer to her previous question.  
  
"Annual powwow. A celebration of the Mother Sun. I guess it's expected to draw a couple thousand people from the surrounding communities. It lasts the weekend."  
  
"A powwow. That's so cool. I've always wanted to attend one. You know my great-grandmother was Cherokee."  
  
"I forgot about that. You'll probably fit right in."  
  
"Stay out of trouble until I get there."  
  
--------------------------------------  
  
Friday morning Kwaipai Native American Reservation  
  
Harm found it impossible to get much sleep. He had removed the air conditioner from the window hoping that a breath of air might reach him. But that only resulted in the unfamiliar sounds of the area keeping him awake. He marveled at the fact he could sleep directly underneath the noise of a carrier catapult but found it impossible to do so with the incessant cawing of two ravens, the latter of which had started at 0400 hours  
  
At 0700 he headed for the diner across the street for coffee and breakfast. He ignored the unyielding stares from the other patrons, all of whom appeared to be Native American. Hadn't anyone told them it was impolite. He ate quickly in the uncomfortable setting. Before returning to the 'inn', he gave a table of elderly women a hundred-watt version of his 'make them weak in the knees' smile. He figured it couldn't hurt.  
  
He chuckled as he considered what Mac would say about that and recalled he failed to mention to her that he was going to participate in the Kwaipai purification ritual today. Which would, he was told, permit him to step foot on their sacred lands. The details of said ritual had not yet been explained to him.  
  
The door to his room was open when he returned and no maid appeared to be in the vicinity. After cautiously entering the room, he checked his belongings. Nothing appeared to be missing. He must have forgotten to lock the old-style door when he left for breakfast.  
  
After returning to his room, he considered dressing as a civilian but finally opted to remain in uniform hoping it would be a show of respect for the Kwaipai's traditions.  
  
An '82 Chevy pulled up at 1000 hours, two hours later than when he was told to expect the other two individuals who would be participating in the ceremony with him. Native Americans, he had already learned, had little regard for timepieces. The car was driven by one of the youths he had met at the tribal headquarters the day earlier. Harm recalled his name as Mark Bentstraw.  
  
"This is Alan Stonehouse," the boy introduced the thirtyish something man in the front seat. Harm shook hands with the man as he got in the back seat.  
  
"Alan, you don't look like the rest of the Kwaipais I've seen. What percentage Native American are you?" Harm asked to break the ice.  
  
"Man, didn't anyone ever tell you it's impolite to ask that! I mean, jeesh, would you go up to a Japanese person and say 'What part Japanese are you?" the boy asked.  
  
"Point well taken. So much for avoiding inserting foot in mouth," Harm muttered.  
  
"My grandmother was an Irish immigrant who ended up settling in this area. My father was full Kwaipai. I've inherited many of grandmother's features," Stonehouse explained to soften the boy's reprimand."  
  
"Where are we headed?" Harm asked seeing as how he hadn't totally alienated himself.  
  
"Down the road to the Whitehorse trailhead. We'll walk from there to the ceremonial clearing," Stonehouse answered.  
  
Harm envied them their t-shirts and shorts. He could already tell it was going to be another hot one as he climbed out of the car at the trailhead.  
  
"So what does this ritual require?" Harm asked as they made their way slowly up the steep tree-lined trail that switched back and forth up and around a hill.  
  
"Do you know what a sweat lodge is?" Bentstraw asked.  
  
"Vaguely," Harm answered honestly.  
  
"Kwaipai believe purification of the soul and body should occur before any significant undertaking. In your case, the elders are granting you access to our mana but first you must be prepared. You must be purified," Stonehouse explained.  
  
"What is mana?" Harm asked.  
  
"All the earth is special. But there are certain places, spiritual places if you will, that are treated with great reverence and respect. These places identify who we are as a people. They are links to our past and our future. For an outsider to step foot on such places without purification is taboo, bad medicine."  
  
"I notice that the road parallels this trail. Does it also end up at the clearing?"  
  
"Yes, but the trail has been here for many ages. It's part of the ritual that those seeking purification travel the same path as our ancestors."  
  
"I'm glad to hear there is a logical reason why we've been hiking uphill for two hours," Harm grimaced as he pulled his sweat soaked shirt from his back.  
  
Stonehouse turned his head and smiled in agreement.  
  
Harm smelled the smoke from the fire pit before actually arriving at the clearing. Ten feet away from the fire was a dome-shaped structure made out of bent willow saplings and covered with animal hides. It stood three feet high and was big enough to hold five men if they sat shoulder to shoulder.  
  
As he approached, he saw Yellowcorn sitting in the shade of a small grove of aspens. He appeared to be meditating and did the acknowledge their arrival. Meanwhile, a young girl offered him a glass of herbal tea. While bitter tasting, it surprisingly helped quench his thirst. He sipped a second glass as he watched the women of the group lay more grapefruit size rocks on the fire. The air temperature was already past 85 degrees and he wondered if there was any correlation between the air temperature and the amount of time spent in the sweat lodge.  
  
"It's time," Stonehouse advised.  
  
Harm followed their lead and stripped to the waist. Before bending low and entering the sweatlodge, he gave a final glance in Yellowcorn's direction. For a moment their eyes locked. Yellowcorn was the first to break the connection and Harm turned and joined the other two men as they took up positions around a two-foot wide depression in the center of the structure. They sat 'Native American-style' with their legs crossed and hands on knees.  
  
Harm half-expected some ritualistic chant or prayer to take place next. He was surprised when four women arrived behind him carrying the hot rocks on forked tree limbs and dumped them into the depression without any preamble. The last woman to leave pulled a flap over the entrance as she departed, blocking all light or breeze from the outside.  
  
Someone, either Stonehouse or Bentstraw, scooped a cup of water from a pail sitting nearby and poured it on the heated rocks. It sizzled momentarily and steam immediately filled the small enclosure.  
  
Other than the breathing of the other two men, all was quiet. This struck Harm as odd given the noises of the early morning that permeated his motel room. Due to the darkness, the lack of a focal point was disconcerting. Harm tried to focus on the sound of the breathing as a reference point.  
  
Sweat soon rolled down his chest and back and dripped down his temples. He could feel his hair plastered to his forehead and resisted the urge to wipe the moisture from his face. More water was poured over the rocks and the temperature inside grew.  
  
At various points the hide flap was pulled back and fresh rocks were added. Harm relished the relative coolness that resulted during these times. He noted Benstraw and Stonehouse kept their eyes closed during such interruptions. They were bent over low with their heads between their knees.  
  
He soon lost track of the intervals between fresh rocks being added and the pouring of water. Time no longer had meaning. Colored patterns danced before his eyes as a feeling of weightlessness took over, bringing with it a sublime peace. He had no recollection of losing consciousness.  
  
------------------------------------  
  
1400 Hours Tribal Headquarters Building Kwaipai Native American Reservation  
  
"Colonel Sarah Mackenzie," Mac introduced herself to the engaging chief of the Kwaipai.  
  
"Pleased to meet you," Chief Redflower shook Mac's hand.  
  
"Kwaipai. That means People of the Hillside. Correct?" Mac smiled.  
  
"That's right. I'm surprised anyone from Washington knows that. But I detect Native American blood in your veins."  
  
"My great-grandmother was Cherokee."  
  
"The Cherokee were distant cousins and part-time enemies. I see you followed the path of Manly Hearted Woman."  
  
"She was one of several woman warriors, was she not?"  
  
"You truly do know your Native American history," Redflower smiled.  
  
The internet is good for something, Mac mused.  
  
"Many Native Americans, both men and women, have fought this century for the United States. A higher percentage than any other racial group," Mac commented.  
  
"Yes. Displays of courage and bravery are highly valued. When there were no more battles to be fought between tribes, our sons and daughters joined the American military services for such honor."  
  
Mac wondered if she detected a certain sadness in the man's voice.  
  
"Could you direct me to the Kwaipai Inn. I understand my colleague, Commander Rabb, is staying there."  
  
"He is, but you won't find him there now. I'll take you to him."  
  
---------------------------------- ----------------------------------  
  
1500 Hours Kwaipai Ceremonial Clearing  
  
"It is a foolish man who mixes too much steam with the hot sun," Redflower spat at Yellowcorn.  
  
"The hotter the steam, the more beneficial the sweat ordeal!" Yellowcorn shot back.  
  
"Why was he not helped to cool in the stream?"  
  
"Bentstraw and Stonehouse required no help. He is not one of us."  
  
Mac listened to the exchange with one ear as she quickly retrieved Harm's t- shirt and uniform and wet them in the stream as two men laid him in the shallow water to help bring his body temperature down. His skin was beet red. Mac was placing the wet shirts over Harm's chest and around his neck just as a paramedic arrived from the reservation's clinic.  
  
"Peter Littlemoon," the paramedic introduced himself as he pulled out a stethoscope and gave Harm a quick once over.  
  
"Sarah Mackenzie. Is he going to be okay?" Mac asked anxiously.  
  
"His pulse is strong and his breathing is deep. Those are good signs. It means he doesn't have heat stroke which is life threatening. Most likely he is suffering from heat exhaustion. The best thing we can do is let him lay here and cool down. When he comes around we'll try to get some fluids in him."  
  
"Thanks," Mac frowned, her expression one of worry.  
  
"My pleasure. Try to relax. I think he'll be fine," Littlemoon grinned at Mac as he rewet the shirts in the stream and replaced them over Harm's still form.  
  
To Mac it felt like forever but in reality it was only a couple of minutes before Harm stirred.  
  
"You sure take embracing the local culture to a new extreme," Mac whispered to Harm as she held his hand.  
  
"Admiral's orders," Harm grimaced as his eyes fluttered open.  
  
"How are you feeling Commander?" Littlemoon asked.  
  
"Like I'm going to be sick," Harm moaned and vomited into the stream.  
  
It was thirty minutes before he stopped heaving.  
  
"Is this normal?" Mac asked the paramedic.  
  
"Pink root can have side affects if given in too large a dose."  
  
"He was drugged?" Mac asked incredulously.  
  
"It's a ceremonial herb used to induce visions and foretell the future," the paramedic shrugged, nonplused that such a practice still occurred.  
  
"Must have been in the tea," Harm groaned as he rested against a rock.  
  
It was another half hour before he could keep down a glass of water.  
  
"Do you think we should have him checked out in Flagstaff?" Mac asked Littlemoon.  
  
"I'm not going to Flagstaff, Mac. I'm fine. Just forget it," Harm grimaced as he attempted to get to his feet.  
  
"He's recovered enough to be irritable. If he promises to drink more and stay off his feet until tomorrow, I think he can safely remain on the reservation."  
  
"Hear that Harm? Littlemoon thinks you are irritable."  
  
"Kill me now," Harm begged.  
  
"Not until you are steady on your feet," Mac admonished, her arm going round his waist as he swayed.  
  
------------------------------  
  
Later that day  
  
The moon helped brighten the trail as Harm headed down. He struggled to keep one foot in front of the other. To take his mind off his discomfort, he tried focusing his attention on the hooting of an owl in the distance which was followed by a long, drawn out bawl reminding him of a new-born calf on his grandmother's farm. The hairs on the nape of his neck stood up as he spotted a trail of blood at his feet.  
  
"What's this?"  
  
He considered calling down the trail to Stonehouse who had gone on ahead. The splotches led off the trail and into the trees. Bentstraw motioned him to follow as they followed the blood.  
  
"Where are we going?" Harm asked.  
  
His curiosity grew with every step. A pool of blood near a large rock caused his stomach to knot as he tried to manufacture some spit in his dry mouth.  
  
Kneeling near the rock, he spotted bear tracks and claw marks scratched into the hard-packed ground. He and Bentstraw followed the tracks for five hundred yards down the hillside, playing it cautious and making plenty of noise to prevent startling the bear in case it was still around. Mac's voice rang in his ears about the stupidity of such a foolhardy trek.  
  
There were scuff marks in the pine needles where something heavy had been swept back and forth a few times. Bentstraw pointed out more blood, some coins, then a worn moccasin. The gruesome setting turned Harm's stomach but he found himself unable to tear his eyes away.  
  
The owl hooted when something large came crashing through the bushes to Harm's left. The face of John Yellowcorn filled his field of vision only to be replaced moments later by the head of a large black bear. Harm struggled to raise his arms as he prepared to defend himself against the on rushing animal.  
  
"Noooooo!"  
  
"Harm wake up! Wake up. You're dreaming," Mac shouted as she grasped his arms. She released her grip when he stopped struggling and she felt his body relax.  
  
"Ugh... nightmare," he groaned as he wiped the sweat from his face.  
  
"No kidding."  
  
"What time is it?" he breathed deep trying to regain his composure.  
  
"0100."  
  
Realizing he was laying on top the bed in nothing but boxers and Mac was standing next to him in nothing but an oversize Marine night shirt, he blushed as he pulled a sheet over himself.  
  
"Harm, if you can trust this thermostat, it's still 80 degrees in here. You hardly need to cover up," Mac smiled.  
  
"Please tell me I managed to undress myself."  
  
"You did, right before you crashed...Littlemoon left you something to drink to build up your electrolytes."  
  
"No thanks. I think I'll stick to bottled water from here on out."  
  
"So do you want to talk about it?"  
  
"What, my dream?"  
  
"No, the attributes of the dignitary suite."  
  
"I was hoping you would have forgotten about that," Harm smiled sheepishly. "Anyway, no. I don't intend to lay her while you analyze me like some shrink. It was just disjointed associations from a bizarre day."  
  
"Fine, have it your way."  
  
"I usually do," he quipped as he sat back against the headboard.  
  
"Harm, did you do anything to tick off John Yellowcorn?" Mac turned serious.  
  
"Not that I know of. Why do you ask?" he asked as his eyes narrowed.  
  
"I just sensed some animosity in him," Mac answered as she returned to sit on her own bed.  
  
"Are you implying what happened at the sweatlodge wasn't an accident?"  
  
"I don't know what to think. Do you know why Bentstraw and Stonehouse were going through the purification ritual?"  
  
"No. It never came up and I thought it might be impolite to ask. I didn't want to make..."  
  
A clatter from the garbage cans outside the room's open window interrupted him.  
  
"Kill the lights," Harm whispered as he jumped from the bed and angled towards the window with Mac right behind him.  
  
"See anything?" Mac asked.  
  
"No. It was probably just kids fooling around."  
  
---------------------------------  
  
0800 Hours Saturday  
  
"How did you sleep the rest of the night? You were tossing and turning for a while," Mac asked Harm as they walked to the diner for breakfast.  
  
"Was I? Sorry if I kept you up," Harm answered evasively.  
  
"Still don't want to talk about it, huh?"  
  
"What's to talk about Mac? Do you want me to believe it was a vision or some foretelling? That concept, I might add, was put in your head by Littlemoon. If he hadn't said anything, you wouldn't be treating this as anything more than a bad nightmare."  
  
"Maybe. But you're the one who just now brought up visions. We've both been exposed to the paranormal, Harm. I know it's not rational. But it's tough to discount. After the strange way I found Chloe when she was missing and you in the Atlantic, I'm just not as skeptical about such things anymore."  
  
"I know. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to jump on you. Let's just deal with breakfast, okay?" Harm sighed.  
  
"Okay," Mac let it drop. He was hiding something. But there was no getting to it once the walls went up around him.  
  
As they entered the diner, the same four elderly women were seated in the same spot as yesterday. Today, however, they smiled at Harm and giggled loudly when he tipped his baseball cap to them.  
  
"You've made friends I see. Of course two of them have to be octogenarians at least. I never knew you were interested in older women."  
  
Harm just rolled his eyes and gave her one of his 'give me a break' looks as he pulled a chair out for her at the corner table. They scanned the half-page menu in silence.  
  
"Just order the special. You can't go wrong," a voice interrupted them.  
  
They looked up to see Littlemoon and Yellowcorn standing at their table.  
  
"Peter. Nice to see you. You too Yellowcorn," Mac smiled.  
  
"Good morning, Sarah. Commander, how are you feeling?" Littlemoon asked as Yellowcorn just watched.  
  
"Fine," Harm gave a stilted answer.  
  
"Great. Try not and over do it today...Um...Sarah, I'd like to invite you to sit with me at the powwow tonight. You too, of course, Commander."  
  
"Why thank you Peter. I'd like that," Mac smiled.  
  
"Excellent. Just look for me near the announcer's table," Littlemoon smiled as he and the older Native American grabbed a take out bag and left.  
  
"Nice to see you've made a friend. First name basis and everything."  
  
It was Mac's turn to roll her eyes.  
  
"We just have some common ground is all," Mac explained.  
  
"And what might that be?"  
  
"Well, for starters, you. And the fact that we both have an interest in dinosaur fossils. Ichthyosaurus to be exact. Evidently he's got quite a collection. There aren't too many of us who get excited about old bones."  
  
"And you know this how?"  
  
"You were dead to the world when Peter drove us back to the Kwaipai Inn yesterday. We were making conversation while you slept in the back seat."  
  
"Evidently."  
  
Mac smiled to herself, enjoying Harm's apparent jealousy.  
  
"So are you up for a little shopping today? I hear the vendors at these things have some good quality Native American crafts."  
  
"What is it with women and shopping? On the other hand, since Redflower's not showing me the proposed air strip land or the Kwaipai sacred land until tomorrow, I guess I've got nothing better to do."  
  
"Try not to sound too excited."  
  
------------------------------  
  
1300 Hours Powwow Grounds  
  
"This place is packed, Mac," Harm commented as they meandered through a sea of people after obtaining ice cream cones.  
  
There were tents containing Native American cuisine, vendors with a wide variety of wares, games of chance, pony rides for the small children, even a petting zoo.  
  
"Yea, I didn't know what to expect. It's definitely a carnival atmosphere."  
  
"Redflower said the evening proceedings up on the rodeo grounds are what really draw the people," Harm said as he glanced over to that area that was already being staked out with people, lawn chairs, coolers, and blankets.  
  
"Oh Harm. Look at this jewelry. It's gorgeous," Mac stated excitedly as she picked up a pair of turquoise and silver earrings.  
  
"Harm...you still with me or are you zoning out? Harm...?"  
  
"Oh sorry. I just thought I spotted someone familiar."  
  
"You mean someone you just met in the last two days?"  
  
"I'm not sure. Anyway, what were you saying?"  
  
---------------------------- ----------------------------  
  
1600 Hours Vendor Area Powwow Area  
  
"Sailor, you're zoning on me again," Mac commented when he didn't answer after she'd asked for his opinion on something.  
  
"Sorry, Mac. It's driving me crazy that I can't place that woman."  
  
"Quit trying so hard. It will come to you when you least expect it. Now what do you think about these cool moccasins? Do you like the red or blue bead work? I think I'll get Chloe and me each a pair," Mac rambled on.  
  
"Mac, enough! I've seen more woolen blankets, woven baskets, beaded necklaces, sandstone sculptures and decorated moccasins than one man can safely handle in a day. Do you mind if we grab that bit of shade over there and sit awhile?"  
  
"Of course not. Why didn't you say something sooner? You're supposed to be taking it easy."  
  
It took Mac a good twenty minutes but she eventually returned with cold glasses of lemonade for them both. She was a little worried to see Peter Littlemoon seated with Harm when she got back.  
  
"Everything okay here?" she asked worriedly.  
  
"Yep. Harm just invited me to take a load off my feet while I take a break from the first aid tent. He tells me you're enjoying the day. Just wait until tonight. It gets even better. That's when we really get to showcase our traditions and culture."  
  
"I'm amazed how the Kwaipai integrate their traditions with modern life," Mac commented as she took a seat on the ground.  
  
"It's not easy. It's definitely a balancing act between two very different worlds. We seek to preserve our traditional language and culture while needing to adapt to the demands and opportunities of today."  
  
"Opportunities like the additional jobs the Navy's airstrip would bring to your people?" Harm asked objectively  
  
"That's a tricky one. Jobs and economic development are important. But sovereign control of our ancestral lands is imperative to our survival as an Native American people. Anything that encroaches on that is risky to that survival. You have to understand that a hundred years from now when someone asks 'Who are you?' we want to be able to answer "I am an Native American. This is my land.'"  
  
"Is that why John Yellowcorn seems to have a chip on his shoulder about the Navy wanting an airstrip near here?" Mac asked.  
  
"Not in the sense you think."  
  
"Why then, if you don't mind my asking?" Harm asked.  
  
"Our traditions, ceremonial rituals, and history have been handed down for centuries. Thus, over the years, maintaining an accurate historical account depends on oral traditions."  
  
"Storytelling," Mac stated.  
  
"Exactly. Each tribe has its historians who consider it their sacred duty to instruct selected young men in the traditions of their nation."  
  
"Why not write it down?" Harm asked.  
  
"We take pride in this knowledge and have a consuming desire to transmit it in the precise form in which it's received. The Kwaipai have always looked for boys or young men who have a special interest in the stories and show a capacity for remembering them."  
  
"It's hard to believe the Kwaipai still feel that way with all the electronic options available today to record that information for posterity," Harm shook his head.  
  
"You can't record the intimacy of the process. Anyway, Yellowcorn knows more than anyone the risks of an oral history and I suspect it has to do with the 'chip' you perceive on his shoulder, Sarah."  
  
"I don't understand."  
  
"Sixty years ago the Kwaipai suffered a devastating blow. The spirits were very unhappy with us and we lost three 'holders of the knowledge' or storytellers. Among them was Yellowcorn's older brother."  
  
"How did they die?"  
  
"Yellowcorn's brother was killed in the second world war, another 'holder' suffered a heart attack, and the third died in a head on collision with an Army supply truck. The Kwaipai are still struggling to recover the lost history, traditions, and treasures that died with those men. We might never retrieve it all."  
  
"So he blames the military," Mac stated.  
  
"It would appear so."  
  
It also helped explain the sadness Mac detected in Redflower's demeanor when she had first met him.  
  
"Is Yellowcorn a 'holder of the knowledge' too?" Harm asked.  
  
"Yes. But sixty years ago he was only ten so he does not have knowledge of everything lost. He is growing old and wants to insure what he does knows is handed down."  
  
"Are Bentstraw and Stonehouse being groomed to carry on as 'holder's of the knowledge'?" Harm asked.  
  
"Them and others."  
  
"Why did those two go through the purification ritual?" Mac asked.  
  
"I'm not sure. Sometimes a storyteller will hand down special stories to one man or a select few. These 'special stories' are considered 'gifts' and are not handed down to another until the recipient decides to pass them on...Perhaps Yellowcorn was preparing them to receive a special 'gift' story...or not," Littlemoon shrugged.  
  
------------------------------  
  
2000 Hours Kwaipai Rodeo Ring and Dance Arena  
  
"We made it," Mac smiled when she spotted Peter Littlemoon at the area he had reserved for them to view the Sun Dance."  
  
"Perfect timing. Make yourselves comfortable on my blanket." He had managed to get them front row viewing.  
  
Mac placed herself between Littlemoon and Harm. They rested their backs against hay bales that marked the boundaries of the performing area.  
  
Harm spotted many of the Native Americans he had already met. They were waiting in a designated area set up for the elders, dancers, and singers. Yellowcorn, Redflower, Stonehouse, Bentstraw -- they were all there.  
  
"What's that man doing?" Mac asked as one of the older Native Americans entered the center of the area.  
  
"Blessing the dance arena with sage and prayer. Once done, the arena becomes sacred ground during the ceremony, connecting the actions of the dancers with the spiritual world," Littlemoon explained.  
  
As Mac watched captivated, two young teenagers darted into the area on their bikes. They did a circuit around the old man and then headed quickly for the exit. Two tribal policemen took off after them. The crowd gasped in surprise.  
  
"Damn," Littlemoon frowned.  
  
"What was that all about?" Harm asked.  
  
"Not all of our members have the respect they should for their heritage and the old ways. It's a source of frustration."  
  
"It's common for young people to be rebellious," Mac sympathized.  
  
"Yes. Redflower likes to remind us that youth is like fire. Marvelous to behold, but needing to be controlled," Littlemoon shrugged.  
  
After the initial disruption the dance proceeded without incident.  
  
"The costumes are amazing," Mac whispered to Littlemoon.  
  
"It's regalia. They are prized possessions. Some of it has been handed down through generations and is priceless. Every article holds special meaning. We honor it and the person wearing it, as well as the living history it represents."  
  
By now the evening sun had set and small fires were lit around the circle of dancers. Harm glanced at Mac. He wasn't surprised to find her captivated by the beating drums and the chanting of the singers. Her eyes never left the dancers with their fringed clothing and bells which emphasized their beautiful motions.  
  
Unfortunately, he couldn't get in the mood of the celebration and stared, deep in thought, into the small fire ten feet in front of him. The truth was his nightmare had disturbed him more than he had let on to Mac.  
  
She had been right that they both shared experiences with the paranormal. Hell, he was a master at it. There was his dream when he talked to Luke about it being okay to start something with Annie. Then the uncanny way Darlin's dead sister had beckoned him to find her sister and her murderer. And how could he forget being led to the book of POW's that contained his father's name and subsequently being led safely from the fire on the Hornet. Yea, he was no stranger to visions. He couldn't help shake the feeling that last evening's nightmare had the same surreal qualities. But he had no idea what it meant.  
  
"You hanging in there, squid?" Mac asked when there was a break in the dance.  
  
"Yea. Sure."  
  
"You look whooped. Why don't we call it a night and head back to the motel."  
  
"No way. You're enjoying this too much. It's not something you'll get to see in Washington."  
  
"Hey, I'd be happy to get Sarah back to the motel if you want to take your own car and head out early. Really, it's not a problem," Littlemoon offered.  
  
"You do have an early morning scheduled with Redflower," Mac reminded him.  
  
"You're sure you don't mind?" Harm asked feeling a little guilty for putting a damper on things.  
  
"As long as you agree to take this flashlight. The way back to the parking lot is not well lit," Mac answered.  
  
-------------------------------------  
  
2130 Hours  
  
There were several dirt paths that led from the arena down to the large parking area an eighth of a mile away. All were deserted since the ceremony had not yet reached its halfway mark and the vendors were required to close up shop during the dance. Harm was grateful for the flashlight since there was no electrical lighting marking the way.  
  
The sound of a branch breaking behind him caused him to stop and see who was joining him. There was no one in sight. The sliver of a new moon cast the nearby hillside in weird shadows. His imagination got the better of him as he conjured up human forms and others shapes too grotesque to be human.  
  
"You're losing it Rabb," he muttered to himself.  
  
Something running in the nearby brush got his attention. It was as if the branches reached out to him pointing the way to follow. His curiosity got the best of him and he stepped off the path and onto the hillside. His footing slipped on the damp foliage and he grabbed a nearby bush to slow his descent, losing his ball cap in the process.  
  
"Mac's going to kill me if I break my ankle," Harm mused as he eased down the embankment while recalling her admonishment in his dream. Is this the foolhardy trek she had mentioned? He couldn't argue that it wasn't. Why couldn't he just let it drop and head to his car?  
  
Five hundred yards later he was so deep into the woods that the sounds from the arena no longer reached him. He rested when he came to a small clearing with large rocks and considered his next move. He stared at the moving shadows that were cast by the moonlight through the quaking aspen leaves. If he tilted his head just right and squinted a little, the shadows materialized into the silhouettes of two running bears. They lulled him still deeper into the woods.  
  
He walked for another fifteen minutes.  
  
"Give it up, Rabb. This is insane," he grumbled as he finally gave in to his better judgment and turned to head back. In the next moment he came face to face with the biggest black bear he had ever seen.  
  
No match for the large mammal, he crouched low trying to make himself appear as unintimidating as possible. Not wanting to make eye contact with the bear, he slowly retreated. So intent was he on trying to slow his racing heart and put some distance between him and the bear, he failed to see the woman step out of the thick brush until she was standing immediately behind him.  
  
"You?!" Harm stated in surprise.  
  
Before she could answer, the bear charged.  
  
Harm's heart threatened to pound right through his chest as the bear pulled up short before barreling into them. It was a bluff charge. Still it was enough of a scare that Harm had taken a couple of steps to the side. In doing so, he failed to see the depression he had stepped into. The ground soon gave in beneath him.  
  
He sensed himself falling more than anything and instinctively tucked his head to start somersaulting. Whatever awaited him in the blackness below, he wanted to hit it rolling.  
  
---------------------------------- ----------------------------------  
  
0200 Hours Sunday morning Kwaipai Inn  
  
"He's not in the room and the car is no where around. Where would he have gone?" Mac asked as she and Littlemoon scanned the deserted motel room for clues.  
  
"I'm sure there is a logical explanation," Littlemoon tried to reason.  
  
"I'm not. I refuse to spend the next several hours doing nothing but waiting for the sun to rise. There's something going on and I want to get to the bottom of it now."  
  
Littlemoon sighed. "Okay, let me first check in with the tribal police and the clinic. If he was in an accident, they would know about it."  
  
"Anything?" Mac asked as he finished the calls. She regretted that she had taken Littlemoon up on his offer to see his bone collection and then go for coffee after the Sun Dance. If she hadn't she would have been back hours earlier and would be that much closer to finding out what happened.  
  
"Afraid not. But that's probably good news."  
  
"I want to see Chief Redflower and John Yellowcorn," Mac stated firmly leaving no room for argument.  
  
---------------------------------  
  
0230 Hours Tribal Headquarters Building  
  
Thirty minutes later Chief Redflower, John Yellowcorn, Peter Littlemoon, and Mac sat around one of the eight foot long tables at the tribal headquarters building.  
  
"Commander Rabb's disappearance is suspicious. Something is going on and I want to know what it is NOW!" Mac argued when the men were less than forthcoming with information.  
  
Redflower sighed as his finger made trails through the corn kernels that had been left on the table from the day's bingo games.  
  
"Okay. But you have to understand that we really don't know what has happened to Commander Rabb. But we'll help in any way we can," Redflower stated as he glanced at Yellowcorn.  
  
A small nod of the head indicated Yellowcorn's acquiescence.  
  
"Any ideas?" Mac prompted.  
  
"There is a lot of opposition to the Navy airstrip. Some of our people have very strong views against it. Perhaps foul play is involved," Redflower offered.  
  
"But the Navy has had negotiators here before and no one has resorted to violence. And what would they hope to accomplish?" Mac argued.  
  
"I agree it doesn't make much sense," Redflower said.  
  
"It's got to be something else. Something specific to Harm. Something he has or knows. Or someone he's ticked off," Mac glowered accusingly at Yellowcorn.  
  
"I think we can eliminate any of the Kwaipai that were present at the ceremony. There wouldn't have been time for any of them to be involved in his disappearance," Littlemoon offered trying to ease the tension.  
  
Mac was willing to set aside her suspicions of the old man for the time being.  
  
"Okay, what else could Harm be involved in?" Mac persisted.  
  
Redflower considered the possibilities before offering a new theory.  
  
"Six months ago a very elderly woman came to our reservation. She identified herself as Irma Brown," Redflower explained.  
  
"How is she involved?" Mac asked confused.  
  
"She explained to me that she was moving out of her old homestead and into a retirement home to spend the remaining years of her life. It was necessary to clean house and get rid of stuff she had accumulated over the years."  
  
"Keep going," Mac urged.  
  
"Her brother, David Brown, had served in the same squad as Juniper Yellowcorn during the second war."  
  
"Private David Brown...His journal," Mac's eyes lit up as a piece of the puzzle clicked in her head.  
  
"Right. Anyway, she came across letters that her brother had sent her while overseas. Several letters spoke of a strong bond that had developed between Juniper and her brother. They had become very good friends."  
  
"In one letter David asked her to notify the Kwaipais about the friendship if anything should happen to him. When her brother came safely home, there was no need to complete the request. But when she reread the letters six months ago, something stirred her memories and she felt an obligation to visit the home of one of her brother's closest friends," Redflower continued.  
  
"Up until six months ago, you were not aware of this friendship?" Mac asked.  
  
"That is correct. Once we found out, we submitted Freedom of Information Requests to learn as much about Private Brown as we could garner. We learned of his court martial and the journal he possessed."  
  
"And you thought there might be important information in it that Juniper Yellowcorn, a 'holder of the knowledge', had passed on to his friend in the event that he didn't make it back," Mac concluded.  
  
Yellowcorn and Redflower nodded.  
  
"What information?" Mac asked.  
  
"We're not sure. We haven't seen the entries we requested from the journal. Commander Rabb said they would be here soon. It's been a very frustrating process. Our earlier requests were denied and we were not given valid reasons."  
  
"But Harm has seen the entries...," Mac thought pensively.  
  
The ringing phone in the tribal headquarters interrupted her train of thought as Littlemoon answered it.  
  
"What is it?" Mac asked anxiously.  
  
"They found Harm's car in a ditch four miles from the arena," Littlemoon frowned.  
  
"He's all right, isn't he?"  
  
"He wasn't in it. All they found were his keys in the ignition and some tracks leading from the car."  
  
----------------------------  
  
0900 Hours  
  
"Sarah, you and thirty others have been searching this area for the past three hours. Why don't you take a break. They'll let us know if they find anything," Littlemoon encouraged.  
  
Mac ran her hands through her hair in frustration. Other than some footprints leading into the woods twenty yards from the car, the area gave up no additional clues that Harm had been there.  
  
"All right. But I'm going back to headquarters to see if they've come up with any answers for me back at JAG," Mac insisted  
  
-----------------------------  
  
1000 Hours JAG Headquarters  
  
Commander Sturgis Turner had been at his investigative work since the Admiral had gotten him out of bed three hours earlier.  
  
"Bingo," he stated as he connected another dot. He reached for the phone to call the number Mac had left him, but she beat him to it and he answered it on the first ring.  
  
"Have you got anything for me Sturgis?"  
  
"I think I do Mac...I've backtracked the FOIA request that the Kwaipai submitted. It was held up by a legalman by the name of Ensign Jackie Talltree. She listed the reason for denial as insufficient funds submitted for processing...Her name is also attached to an entry made in the Case Tracking System indicating she might have changed the index number where the journal was filed."  
  
"Anything else?"  
  
"Yea. She requested and was granted a week of leave the same day Harm left for Arizona."  
  
"What about the journal? Do you have it?" Mac strained to keep her voice level.  
  
"Not yet. It hasn't been re-filed. I'm trying to track down a Petty Officer Jenkins. Her name is on the FOIA form with a status of 'in progress'.  
  
"Let me know ASAP as soon as you get it," Mac implored.  
  
"You know I will. Keep the faith, Mac. You'll find him."  
  
"Yea. But will he be okay?"  
  
----------------------------  
  
1045 Hours Kwaipai Tribal Headquarters  
  
"Jackie Talltree left the reservation in her early teens. Her parents did not want to live their lives on the reservation. I'm told she returns occasionally to visit friends," Redflower explained.  
  
"Did you know she was in the Navy?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Did you submit the required fees with the FOIA request?" Mac asked.  
  
"Yes. On a check from the tribal checking account," Redflower answered before taking a phone call.  
  
"What is it?" Mac asked once he had hung up.  
  
"A lieutenant with our tribal police confirmed that a campsite is registered under Talltree's name. It's among those set up on the outskirts of the rodeo arena. They have started asking questions in the area," Redflower explained.  
  
--------------------------  
  
Earlier Undisclosed Location  
  
Harm used the indigo light on his watch to check the time. It had been four hours since Ensign Talltree had promised she would return with help. She hadn't stuck around long enough for Harm to ask what she was doing on the reservation. Maybe she had another run in with the bear. That would explain why she hadn't returned.  
  
It had come to Harm the moment Talltree stepped out on the trail that she was the ensign who had accidentally started the fire in the microwave at JAG. He'd only seen her briefly that day and he doubted he would have been able to recall her name if she hadn't told him. But she was definitely the same woman he had seen hanging around the vendor area.  
  
With a last name of Talltree it was possible she had roots on the reservation. But her being on the reservation at this time was more than a coincidence, of that he had no doubt.  
  
"What have I stumbled into, other than this cave?" he groaned at his own pun as he tore a strip from his t-shirt and tied it around the gash in his forehead.  
  
As more time passed, his sense that something was amiss grew stronger as did the pain in his ribs. He was certain he broke one or two when he tumbled thirty feet down and crashed into the cave wall.  
  
With his back resting against the rock wall, he stared up through the rotten timbers that had one time served as a ladder leading into the cave. Without it he had no chance of climbing up the precipitously steep wall to the entrance.  
  
Trying not to disturb his protesting ribs more than he had to, he groped for the flashlight in the darkened chamber. He finally found it with his foot. It hadn't been turned on when he fell and it survived his crash to the floor of the cave.  
  
He angled the light upward unveiling the loose dirt and rock that nearly filled the passage. The passage appeared to be an excavated tunnel. A smaller passage way led off the small cavern he was in.  
  
He was startled when a rope was thrown down and landed near his feet.  
  
"Stand clear Commander. I'm coming down," Jackie Talltree warned him in advance of rappelling down. A small river of loose rock was dislodged as her feet made contact with the side of the tunnel.  
  
"You came back alone?" Harm asked suspiciously.  
  
"Yea. How are you feeling?" she asked as she angled the light on her hard hat towards his face.  
  
Harm turned away momentarily blinded.  
  
"Douse the light Ensign."  
  
"Anything you say, Sir," Talltree laughed as she saw Harm's eyes focus on her service revolver when he turned his head back.  
  
"Are you going to explain what's going on?" Harm asked casually.  
  
"Like you don't know, Sir. Where's the treasure?"  
  
"What treasure?" Harm asked confused as he looked up at her standing over him.  
  
"I don't have time for games, Commander. The treasure of Great Bear. I don't know how you did it. But you managed to find it. Now where is it?"  
  
"I don't know what you're talking..."  
  
The sound of the gun shot reverberated in the small confines. The bullet hit the ground near Harm's thigh.  
  
"Take it easy, Ensign! Let's talk about this."  
  
"Quit playing with me, Commander. The treasure is here and you're going to show me where."  
  
-----------------------------  
  
1500 Hours Present Time  
  
Sturgis had faxed a photo of Ensign Jackie Talltree to Mac. The copy machine at the Kwaipais headquarters was out of order. It took another two hours before copies were obtained off the reservation for distribution to the tribal police.  
  
"Any luck with finding the journal?" Littlemoon asked.  
  
"Not yet. The Petty Officer who had it last is out today and they are trying to find her. Meanwhile, they've started a search for it," Mac frowned.  
  
"How about any more information about Talltree?"  
  
"Her service record is a little checkered. An occasional lack of discipline. Instances or poor judgment. There was also an incident for disrespecting a fellow officer," Mac answered, rubbing her tired eyes.  
  
"You haven't slept or eaten in hours. Are you sure you want to help canvass the campers up at the rodeo grounds?"  
  
"You bet I do."  
  
------------------------------  
  
------------------------------  
  
1730 Hours Campground Area Near Rodeo Grounds  
  
"A search of Talltree's tent yielded no clues. It was meticulously in order and clean. Other than a sleeping bag and change of clothes, there was little else to look at," Redflower advised Mac.  
  
"It's taken three hours to find and talk to everybody in the campground with no hard leads. The trail is growing colder by the minute," Mac groaned.  
  
"Sarah, Chief!" Littlemoon came running up behind them. "We've found someone who remembers seeing Talltree at the dance last night."  
  
"Who?" Mac asked jumping to her feet.  
  
"She's an elderly woman. She's waiting for us over at the announcer's table."  
  
Mac was practically running towards the arena. Littlemoon and Redflower were hard pressed to keep up. She skidded to a halt when she saw one of the older women from the diner. She was one of the octogenarians she had teased Harm about.  
  
"My name is Sarah Mackenzie. Littlemoon said you saw this woman last night," Mac showed her the picture of Talltree again.  
  
"I'm Three Stars in a Row. Yes. She was there."  
  
"You're sure?" Mac asked.  
  
The woman nodded.  
  
"Do you know anything about her? What she was doing? Where she went? Who she was with?" Mac asked on a roll.  
  
"Calm child. Catch your breath," the old woman smiled.  
  
"Please, my friend could be in danger," Mac implored.  
  
"Your friend is the 'pleasing-to-the-eye' warrior with you at breakfast?"  
  
"Yes!" Mac answered with a surge of hope.  
  
"He is why I noticed this woman in the first place," the woman grinned.  
  
If she hadn't seen it for herself, Mac would have thought it impossible for an eighty-year old dark-skinned woman to blush.  
  
"Go on," Mac encouraged her.  
  
"I was watching him at the dance, wishing I had only seen half as many winters. I was disappointed to see him leave. This woman followed close behind down the far path," Three Stars pointed.  
  
"And you're sure she followed?" Littlemoon asked.  
  
"Yes. I noticed because I thought she had not yet seen enough winters to pursue such a warrior," Three Stars winked at Mac.  
  
"Thank you Three Stars. You've been very helpful," Mac smiled back.  
  
Harm's not going to believe this Mac thought still holding out hope that they would find him and he would be fine.  
  
"Let's retrace the Commander's steps. Perhaps we have been led astray," Redflower suggested as they headed toward the path.  
  
"I'm not sure what we hope to find. Several hundred people have come this way since last night," Mac stated impatiently as they walked down the path.  
  
"Look for anything out of place. Something that doesn't fit," Redflower suggested.  
  
Littlemoon's keen eyes slowly scanned both sides of the path as the group headed toward the parking lot.  
  
"There!" he pointed down the embankment.  
  
"What is it?!" Mac asked.  
  
"I don't know. Wait here. I'll get it," Littlemoon instructed as he stepped off the side of the path.  
  
He returned a few moments later with Harm's baseball cap from the Patrick Henry.  
  
--------------------------------  
  
Hours Earlier Undisclosed Location  
  
"You won't get away with this. My car was in the parking lot. They'll know to search this area. It won't be long before they find me," Harm tried to rationalize with Talltree as he struggled to his feet.  
  
"Give it up Commander. I moved your car. They're searching four miles from here," Talltree sneered as she pushed Harm roughly towards the passage leading further into the cave. His ribs flared in pain. He tried to ease the discomfort by holding one arm tight around his waist while the other held the flashlight. Stars danced in front of his eyes and he had to steady himself against the wall.  
  
Talltree's impatience grew as he delayed their progress.  
  
"If you're in such a hurry, why don't you leave me here. I don't know anything about any treasure and will just slow you down."  
  
"I don't believe you. I think you know more than you're telling me."  
  
Harm shook his head in frustration. What did she suspect he knew?  
  
Once he got control of the pain, they proceeded down the sloped ground until the ceiling got higher. But the walls then narrowed to a point where they had to squeeze in sideways and sidestep for twenty yards. All the while Talltree kept the gun pointed at Harm while he considered his options. He doubted he was in any shape to wrestle the gun from her. Better to take things slow and hope help came soon.  
  
The passage eventually widened and opened up onto an enormous underground chamber. Their lights barely penetrated to the other side. Neither was expecting the eerie looking stalactites that hung down forming a demonic looking gauntlet.  
  
"Too creepy," Talltree muttered.  
  
"You didn't know about this place?"  
  
"As a child I remember stories that spoke of a hidden world where dangerous spirits dwelled. The location was made known to only a select few who could talk to the rock people. Great Bear must have been one of them."  
  
"And you're after his treasure. What was it? Gold? Silver? It's evidently enough to throw away your career and risk prosecution for any number of serious charges."  
  
"I hope it is enough."  
  
"You mean you don't know?" Harm asked incredulously.  
  
"Shut up, Commander. If you hadn't started poking around, I would have found it on my own without anyone being the wiser. Then I could have kept my career and the treasure. Now get moving."  
  
"Which way? There are three separate tunnels branching off. I've heard of caves that can have miles of corridors. You think you have time to cover them all?" Harm taunted as he passed the flashlight over the far wall.  
  
"Don't worry yourself about it. I'll deal with it. Start with the one on the left."  
  
"You're not thinking straight, Ensign! There is no way you're going to pull this off. What are you going to do when you find the treasure, kill me? You think people are going to believe it was an accident? If you quit now, I might be able to help."  
  
"Move! I'm not going to tell you again."  
  
For the next twenty minutes they wound their way through a maze of dark rooms, intersecting passages, and pits that made up the subterranean domain.  
  
"I need a break. My ribs are killing me," Harm panted, stopping to rest against the damp cold wall.  
  
"Not yet. I'll give you five minutes once we clear this section....It looks like we're going to have to continue through here on our hands and knees," Talltree stated as she checked out the crawlspace that lay ahead.  
  
"I can't without some water first," Harm grimaced as he eased down on one knee.  
  
In front of him was a chaotic pile of rocks where the walls had caved in shrinking the passage to a three-foot high tunnel. The area looked particularly unstable with crumbling rock instead of the solid surface they had been navigating through earlier.  
  
"I'm getting so tired of your whining and your intentional stalling!" Talltree yelled, firing another two shots into the ground as her impatience grew.  
  
"Noooo..." Harm warned too late.  
  
The bullets ricocheted off a rock and up towards the ceiling. Rocks began raining down into the area, increasing in number and size with each passing moment. Sensing a major collapse of the ceiling was imminent, Harm dove into the cramped tunnel. Meanwhile, Talltree backed up in the other direction to avoid the tumbling rocks.  
  
Harm had no room to roll and soften the impact with the ground. The flashlight he had been holding connected with the side wall. The bulb shattered on impact casting him in a blackness so complete his eyes failed to adjust no matter how hard he tried.  
  
As the tunnel continued filling with rock and debris, dust from the collapsing section grew thicker as he gasped for air. Fighting the excruciating agony from his fractured bones, he pushed himself to his hands and knees and set his mind on getting out of the crawlspace and into an open area before he was buried in the rubble. Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered the similarities to his plunge in the Atlantic. Just as he had done then, he fought down the panic.  
  
Unable to see in the absolute darkness, Harm pitched forward unexpectedly and started sliding head first down a steep rocky scree slope. He tried to use his arms to protect his head as he dug his toes into the lose surface in a futile attempt to slow his descent.  
  
--------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------  
  
1900 Hours Present Time  
  
The thirty search volunteers split into two teams. Half started from the area where Harm's car had been found and moved towards the rodeo arena. The others started from where the baseball cap was found and moved east. Working towards each other they hoped to cover the distance before daylight gave out. But the brush was thick and the terrain inhospitable making for slow going.  
  
The teams had systematically divided up the area to cover as much ground as possible with each individual given a certain quadrant of land to search for clues. Again Mac insisted on being part of the search team.  
  
"Come on, Harm. Where are you? You've got to know I'm worried sick. This has been going on for twenty-four hours," Mac whispered, hoping that fate might somehow intervene and she would again make some paranormal connection with him.  
  
With the sun setting low in the western sky they would soon be out of daylight and the trail to Harm would turn colder. She fought the urge to cry by reminding herself she was a Marine and then focused on the task at hand. She meticulously scanned her assigned area. Assorted trash littered the area but it all looked as if it had been there awhile. Probably blown down from the rodeo area rather than dropped in person.  
  
She'd have to call the Admiral before long and see what additional resources he could bring to bare on the situation. Then she chastised herself for giving up too soon when there was still a chance to find him in the next few minutes.  
  
"Talk to me, Harm. You're close. You've got to be, for both our sakes," Mac implored.  
  
The other searchers had moved at a quicker pace and had outdistanced her. She found herself alone except for the birds filling the evening air with their raucous chirping. The sound of crickets became more prevalent and the fire flies started appearing.  
  
Standing in a small clearing, she slowly turned in a circle. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a flicker of light. As she approached the source, she discovered the sun reflecting off the aluminum frame of a backpack that had been cached in the thick brush.  
  
Hope, anxiety, fear...the emotions were hard to separate as she searched the pack and pulled out assorted topographical maps of the area, as well as ropes, and carabiners. At first she suspected it was climbing gear. But that didn't make any sense since there weren't any formations on the reservation suitable to climbing.  
  
She checked the additional compartments. A hard hat and several carbide head lamps were stuffed into a side pocket.  
  
"Not climbing...caving," Mac stated with certainty as she got to her feet with renewed purpose. It didn't take her long to find the tree ten feet from the pack that had a rope tied around it. She followed the rope as it dropped down into a small grass-covered opening in the ground. Wasting no time to flag down additional help, she equipped herself with one of the carbide head lamps and eased herself down the hole.  
  
Soon she was at the chamber with three tunnels leading off it. The smooth rock surface gave no clue as to which path others might have chosen. So she chose the middle one thinking that it might branch off further into the cave and intersect with one of the other tunnels. She could always backtrack if necessary.  
  
She contained the urge to yell out Harm's name. She was certain Talltree was the owner of the backpack and that she was somewhere in the cave. An odd notion entered her mind that no war party wished to be seen. "Where did that thought come from?" Mac shuddered.  
  
The sound of falling rocks to her left increased her anxiety. She held her breath expecting the area to cave in around her but it never happened. Silence returned a minute later and she resumed her search.  
  
The tunnel opened up into a good-sized chamber. She slowly moved her head directing the head light around the room. There was a steep incline off to her left that led down from a ledge above her. The incline was covered in tiny rocks and scree. Her light continued down the incline to the chamber floor. She had to refocus her eyes when the light settled on something other than the dark walls of the cave. A pile of rags...no...not rags.  
  
"Harm! Oh my gosh, Harm."  
  
Mac found him laying on his side with his knees drawn up to his chest. One side of his head was painted a reddish brown from dried blood. His face and clothes were covered in a fine dust.  
  
"Harm, can you hear me?" Mac asked as she rolled him onto his back and checked for a pulse.  
  
"Thank God," Mac whispered when she found a strong one. "Come on, Harm. Wake up," she ordered.  
  
Through the fog of unconsciousness, Harm finally registered his body being moved and a whisper of a breeze on his cheek. He forced his eyes open to find Mac staring him in the face.  
  
"Mac...." he coughed, wincing as his ribs protested.  
  
"You're hurt."  
  
"Ribs...."  
  
"Can you sit up?"  
  
"With some help..."  
  
Mac eased Harm into a sitting position so he could rest against the side of the chamber. She offered him the water bottle from her day pack and waited until he quenched his thirst.  
  
"So are you going to tell me what's going on? I know Ensign Talltree is somehow involved but beyond that we're in the dark...No pun intended," Mac giggled. Her lack of sleep and relief in finding him safe but tattered turning her a little giddy.  
  
Harm gave her a weak grin and nodded his head.  
  
"She thinks there is some long lost treasure in here and for some reason believes I know where it's at. But I don't have a clue what she is talking about. I accidentally found this cave," Harm explained tiredly.  
  
"How?"  
  
"It's a long story. I'll tell you later once we're out of here."  
  
"The only thing the two of you have in common is Private Brown's journal."  
  
"How's that?" Harm asked intrigued as he attempted to get to his feet.  
  
"Talltree became aware of the journal's existence when she processed a FOIA request submitted by Chief Redflower."  
  
"Yea, that's what sold Chegwidden on sending me here in the first place. I told him I was familiar with the request and the delays they encountered. He agreed I could help smooth things over. I assured Redflower the information requested would arrive in a few days," Harm shared as he accepted Mac's help to stand.  
  
"Well my guess is Ensign Talltree evidently thinks you read something in the journal that enabled you to put two and two together to find this cave and hence the suspected treasure...Was there anything you remember reading in the journal that was weird?"  
  
"Not that I can recall. Like I told you, I found this cave accidentally. Maybe if I read it again I would know what to look for," Harm swayed on his feet as his hand went out to the wall to steady himself.  
  
"Chief Redflower shared with me a story about a Kwaipai Native American by the name of Juniper Yellowcorn. He was a friend of Private Brown's who died in World War Two when they were serving together. Chief Redflower was after any information that Juniper would have shared with Private Brown. Anything that he might have passed on in the way of old stories specifically," Mac explained as she steadied Harm and directed the light of the head lamp at him.  
  
"Did you find Ensign Talltree?" Harm asked.  
  
"No. I was going to ask you where she is?"  
  
"I don't know. We were separated when a portion of the cave collapsed. I don't know if she got caught in it or not," Harm answered as Mac's light lit the wall behind him.  
  
The two of them saw the old petroglyphs at the same time.  
  
Mac brought the light up closer so they could get a better view of the figures that had been carved into the rock wall.  
  
"What are they?" Harm asked.  
  
"Petroglyphs. Native American rock art. Sometimes they were created as part of a ritual or ceremony performed by Native Americans."  
  
Harm stared at the rudimentary figures. They jogged a vague memory, but his mind was sluggish. There was something he was missing. It was just outside his grasp of understanding. Tantalizingly close.  
  
"Harm...Come on. Let's get you out of here. You need medical attention," Mac pulled on his arm.  
  
"Mac, wait....This looks like it is supposed to represent the sky. Here's a moon... and these...these are bears," Harm stared in awe.  
  
"Yea. I can't argue with you there. But so what?"  
  
Harm closed his eyes as his hands went to his temples.  
  
"Harm, you're scaring me. Are you all right?" Mac asked alarmed.  
  
"Whenever I gaze at the sky and spy the north star, I will remember his request to look for two bears running towards the moon."  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"That was an entry Private Brown made in his journal....two bears running towards the moon...That's the message Mac," Harm pointed at the carvings.  
  
"Come on Harm, let's deal with this later."  
  
"Wait Mac. Hear me out. I know this is going to sound weird. But the nightmare I had wasn't a nightmare. It was a vision. That's why it bothered me so much. I didn't tell you, I'm sorry. I don't know how or why but maybe it was because of the purification ritual in the sweatlodge. But it was the vision that directed me here. I just didn't realize it until now," Harm's mind raced as it all came together at once.  
  
"Slow down, Harm. Take a breath and start at the beginning," Mac urged  
  
"The evening of the purification ritual I dreamed I was on a trail with Bentstraw and we were following a path of blood. It led to more blood which led to a handful of coins and an old moccasin. Then I came face to face with a bear which altered into the face of John Yellowcorn."  
  
"So now you're finally letting me analyze the dream for you," Mac rolled her eyes.  
  
"I don't need you to. I understand it....The blood warned of danger, the coins represented the treasure, and the moccasin was Talltree. And the bear..." Harm paused.  
  
"Go on, the bear...?" Mac prompted.  
  
"After I left the Sun Dance, something lured me off the trail. I can't explain it. It was just a feeling that something or someone wanted me to follow. First there were the mysterious looking shadows. Then there was this black bear that came across the path and I ran into Ensign Talltree. She's made reference to Great Bear's treasure several times....You were right by the way...When I was least expecting it, I finally recognized her as the mysterious woman...In any event, I thought I was getting out of the way of the bear and in doing so fell into the cave's entrance."  
  
"Are you suggesting that the bear was somehow directing you to the cave?"  
  
"I know it's weird, Mac.....Anyway, I just can't figure out why Yellowcorn was in the dream."  
  
"Juniper Yellowcorn and John Yellowcorn were brothers. He suspected that his brother might have tried to leave a message for the Kwaipai in the event something happened," Mac supplied.  
  
"Okay. That fits. Now that we're here, this petroglyph might be the key to where the treasure is located," Harm stated as he followed the carvings as they led further into the cavern.  
  
"What are we looking for?" Mac asked.  
  
"I don't know. But there's a small niche back here that looks like it has something in it."  
  
"That's far enough, Commander," Talltree's voice echoed in the room.  
  
Mac turned her head lamp on the approaching Ensign. She had been so engrossed in Harm's story that they both failed to hear her approach. Blood trickled from a gash on her forehead where one of the falling rocks had hit her. But she still had the upper hand with the service pistol aimed at them.  
  
"So you knew where it was afterall," she sneered as she moved beyond them to the small alcove that was recessed in the wall.  
  
Harm and Mac watched as she extended one arm into the small nook and pulled out a bundle wrapped in an old waterproof hide. She removed the outer covering then removed several layers of bright trade cloth before getting to the bundle's contents.  
  
Mac's light illuminated as assortment of rattles, ritual paint containers, and a three-foot long pipe.  
  
"Dammit! Son of a bitch! There's got to be more. Find it, dammit," she yelled turning her attention back to Harm as she charged angrily at him.  
  
Unprepared for her reaction, Harm didn't have time to defend himself as she barreled into him, knocking them both to the floor. Sitting on top of him, she brought the gun up preparing to fire it when Mac tackled her from the side. Harm lay motionless unable to help.  
  
The two women were locked in hand to hand combat when the gun was knocked free. Talltree's fist connected with Mac's chin momentarily stunning her. Talltree used the opportunity to dive at the gun. But before she could bring it to bear on Mac, another figure came unannounced out of the shadows and yanked the gun from her hand and subdued her on the ground.  
  
"Bentstraw," Mac gasped. "Thank God."  
  
------------------------------------------------ ------------------------------------------------  
  
2200 Hours Wooded Area Outside Cave Entrance  
  
"That should hold you until we get you to Flagstaff, Commander. You need stitches and some x-rays. The ambulance should be here soon," Littlemoon advised as he finished wrapping Harm's ribs.  
  
"I don't suppose there is anyway I can get out of that is there?" Harm asked as he rested his head against a tree trunk and stared at the star- filled sky.  
  
"Afraid not."  
  
"Don't even try, Harm," Mac warned as Littlemoon laughed.  
  
Harm sighed knowing he was outnumbered.  
  
"Big Dipper's pretty tonight," he said to pass the time.  
  
"We know it as Ursa Major, the Great Bear. The stars in the handle represent warriors on the hunt, the remaining stars are Great Bear," Littlemoon explained.  
  
Harm was too tired to analyze yet another reference to Great Bear so he opted for less philosophical ground.  
  
"Speaking of bears, isn't it dangerous to have one so close to the public arena?" Harm asked.  
  
"What are you talking about," Littlemoon asked confused.  
  
"On the trail, I came within five feet of the biggest black bear I've ever seen," Harm explained.  
  
Littlemoon looked at him odd.  
  
"What?" Mac asked.  
  
"There haven't been any bears in this part of the state for decades," Littlemoon answered.  
  
The three friends said nothing as they considered the possibilities.  
  
---------------------------------  
  
1100 Hours Monday, June 16 Kwaipai Tribal Headquarters  
  
Harm walked a little stiffly into the tribal headquarters building with Mac at his side. They had spent the evening in Flagstaff. After a good night's sleep and medical attention he was well enough to return with Mac to the reservation to complete their original assignment. Namely, negotiating a compromise with the Kwaipai's for land needed to build the Navy's airstrip.  
  
A half-dozen council members, including Redflower, Yellowcorn, and the old woman named Three Stars were present. Harm noted that Stonehouse, Bentstraw, and Littlemoon had been invited to the proceedings as well.  
  
"...So in conclusion...," Harm summarized, "The Navy is suggesting a trade of federal land that borders your reservation on the west in exchange for reservation acreage on the northern edge of the Kwaipai's land. Those acres are also well suited for the strip. If you agree, there is no longer a need for the Navy to pursue the land that abuts the Kwaipai's sacred land. Plus you benefit from the additional jobs that would be created as a result of building and maintaining the strip."  
  
Harm waited patiently after the council members excused him and Mac from the room to consider the offer. It wasn't long before they were summoned to return.  
  
"Commander Rabb, the Kwaipai's accept the Navy's offer on one condition," Redflower informed him.  
  
"And that would be?" Harm asked, stifling a groan.  
  
"The Kwaipai's insist on checking the land first for long-lost hiding places of our ancestors," Redflower answered.  
  
"I think that can be arranged," Harm grinned.  
  
"And now, if these proceedings are over, I still have a few questions about lost caves and treasures," Mac smiled.  
  
"Let me try to answer them," Redflower offered. "We have legends that speak of a great Kwaipai warrior named Great Bear. He was known for his powerful visions and astuteness. Consequently, he was an honored member of our tribe who often led war parties and as such was a 'pipeholder'."  
  
"Pipeholder?" Harm asked.  
  
"Among the Kwaipai, smoking the sacred pipes is equivalent to praying. Smoke gives physical form to our spoken words or thoughts and carries them to the sky where spiritual beings notice them and help our people. One who is a 'pipeholder' is entrusted with this responsibility," Littlemoon explained.  
  
"But Ensign Talltree thought there was great treasure in the cave," Mac stated.  
  
"In a sense she was right. The pipes themselves are very personal possessions protected and handed down with great care....Littlemoon explained to you that there were special stories that are handed down to only a select chosen few. The location of Great Bear's pipe was last entrusted to Juniper Yellowcorn. He feared he would not be able to pass the information on to another Kwaipai. So he did the best he could and relayed the information to his friend, Private Brown. But the location of the cave or even its existence was lost over the ages," Redflower added.  
  
"It appears Great Bear's spirit could not rest knowing his valued pipe might fall into the wrong hands," Littlemoon concluded looking knowingly at Harm.  
  
"Where is the pipe now?" Harm asked.  
  
"We have it here. It is to be re-blessed and put on exhibit at a local museum for future generations of Kwaipai to enjoy and so others can learn about our traditions and culture. Would you care to see it?" Redflower asked.  
  
"I'd love to," Mac answered and Harm nodded his agreement.  
  
Bentstraw retrieved the bundle and placed its valued contents on the table in front of them. Up close they could see the red and green stripes which were the pipe stem's predominant colors. A cluster of black hair around the middle divided it in half with human teeth inset into the lower half. A section of its center shaft was wrapped in hide and had rare, translucent white beads running in a double row along each side.  
  
"It's beautiful. Thank you for allowing us to see it," Mac stated.  
  
"It's the least we can do. We have you and Commander Rabb to thank for helping us find an important part of our People's past," Redflower acknowledged.  
  
"Great Bear chose wisely in seeking the help of Commander Rabb. The Council wishes to honor you today with this eagle feather," Yellowcorn spoke for the first time today.  
  
Harm was a little embarrassed being the center of attention. But he accepted the gesture from Yellowcorn, whose eyes had finally softened a little.  
  
"Thank you," he stated as Yellowcorn affixed the feather above Harm's other ribbons.  
  
-------------------------------  
  
1200 Hours  
  
"What will happen to Jackie Talltree?" Redflower asked as they gathered outside to say their goodbyes.  
  
"She'll have to face charges for dereliction of duty, assault, and kidnapping," Mac answered.  
  
"Such a shame. She will be welcomed back here if she decides to return. It is our way," Three Stars added.  
  
"You'll be flying back to Washington today?" Littlemoon asked.  
  
"Duty calls. It was very nice meeting you Littlemoon," Mac answered.  
  
"Likewise. Commander take it easy for a few days," Littlemoon said as they shook hands.  
  
"I'll try," Harm answered as he reached to open the car door for Mac. "Oh, I almost forgot, Mac. I meant to give these to you earlier," Harm grinned as he pulled a small package from his pocket and handed it to her.  
  
"Oh, Harm! They're lovely. They are exactly the pair I would have chosen. I didn't think you were paying attention," Mac laughed as she held up the pair of turquoise and silver earrings for all to see.  
  
"You dropped enough hints Mac. How could I not notice," Harm grinned.  
  
Mac clutched the box in her hand. Her eyes met Three Stars'. The old woman smiled and winked knowingly at Mac. She then waved goodbye and walked away hand-in-hand with John Yellowcorn.  
  
The End  
  
Author's Note: The Kwaipais are a fictitious tribe I created for this story. 


End file.
